


Cigarette Smoke

by ghoullly



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: El Mañana, Father-Daughter Relationship, Phase Four (Gorillaz)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 23:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11702256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoullly/pseuds/ghoullly
Summary: Murdoc goes outside to smoke one night when he can't sleep. Turns out, somebody else has something bothering them too.





	Cigarette Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> i really like writing for their father-daughter dynamic a lot. there's a lot of this fanfiction that was cut out, including sections of the middle along with the end, so i'm really sorry if it seems incomplete ^^" i just have a lot of stuff i gotta get done for school and it would eat at me if i didn't publish this before i started? idk why lmao, so i'll just put this on here now and i might add to it at a later time. ohh well haha
> 
> i hope it isn't too bad or awkward bc of the time crunch and my lack of time to really edit!! enjoy!

Pulling the cold leather tighter over his shoulders, Murdoc glanced up at the night sky as he took another drag on his cigarette.

You could see way more stars here than you could back in Essex. Granted, nowhere could compare to the view you could get on Plastic Beach. The navy blue was dusted with so much white that your eyes didn’t know what to focus in on. Sucks he couldn’t get to see them as long as he’d have liked to; the helicopters and pirate jets flew at night too and he was a sitting duck out on the beach like that.

But here in Detroit, he could sit outside, leant against his car, and stare up for as long as he wanted. It was a bit cold, though. Another shiver made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and he shifted his jacket again. His back was starting to hurt from the angle he was leaning at, so he mumbled something incoherent under his breath as he replaced his feet to help him stand straighter. Maybe the Cuban heels had to do with the back problems too.

Satan, he was getting old. He had grown tired of diligently plucking grey hairs that stood out amidst the jet black, letting them go so much that his hair had started to pepper. Hair dye was always an option, but the last time he had tried, his hands and forehead were stained for weeks afterwards. Half a century he’d been on this Earth. It wasn’t really necessary to try and hide his age anymore anyway; it showed in his face and his eyesight and his  _ godawful  _ back pains. Thankfully, he was still able to play his bass without anything in his joints. 

Another drag, and he blew the smoke out of the corner of his mouth. At least things were calm now. Ten years of chaotic endeavors with no break could really take a toll on someone’s body.

Murdoc heard the front door creak open but didn’t turn to investigate who it was; instead, he made a mental note to oil up the fuckin’ hinges on that thing.

He heard them walk closer, shoes dragging along wet grass, and he wordlessly stepped aside, offering them room next to him. At first he didn’t acknowledge them, but the bounce in their step and the carefree way they draped themselves on the passenger door gave them away as Noodle. Murdoc lifted his head, giving her a small smile before glancing back up at the stars. She lifted her chin too, tilting backwards to get a better view.

“It’s late,” was all she said, crossing her arms across her middle.

“Yeah, can’t really sleep,” he replied, shrugging indifferently, blowing the smoke out of his nose. He saw her shift out of the corner of his eye, and much to his distaste found her lighting a cigarette of her own; he had no right to complain. He and Russel had nagged her about it for months when they were reunited, but she never dropped the habit. He supposed they all played a role in her influence. Maybe they shouldn’t have smoked so much around her when she was younger.

Oh, little Noodle. How far she had come. He could remember the very day she had Fed-Exed right to his front door, popping out of her box and wedging her way right into his crooked little heart. He could remember poring through the pages of a English-Japanese dictionary to try and hold conversations with her, trying to hide the smile that forced its way from ear to ear when her eyes would light up when she understood. The three of them uncovered sides of themselves that they didn’t know existed until they were around her--they’d brush and braid her hair for interviews, dance with her to the self-titled album in the kitchen early Sunday mornings, let her stay up late every once and awhile to marathon cheesy animated movies with them. She’d picked up their verbal ticks and would repeat things she’d heard them say (which had gotten Murdoc in trouble with Russel one too many times). And holy hell, she could play the guitar. The best little guitar player he’d ever seen, only 10 years old and having decades worth of experience.

When she’d visited Japan and returned with her English better than before, she was even more fun to be around. Sure, she had become a moody teenager in some sense, but she had already become so different in the four years they’d known her. They were watching her grow up, and though he didn’t want to admit it, Murdoc was proud as hell of her. She had such a bright future ahead of her that held so many things and he was going to be able to say that he had held her hand along the way until she didn’t need to anymore. An even deeper-shoved concept blossomed in his blackened heart, and he kept it to himself mostly, trying to ignore it even though it was true--he was Noodle’s father, and so was Russel, and however she turned out was all because of them. (And her lanky softie for an older brother, of course. Gotta give him credit when credit was due.)

_ That  _ was why El Manana had him at the bottom of a dangerous amount of bottles and held him at the foot of his bed for a long while with a bottle of pills clutched in his shaking hand. His little girl had trusted him and he had let her die. He put her life in danger just because he didn’t know how to deal with an annoyance any other way and broke Russ’ and Stu’s hearts just the same, hurting them enough to make them escape to their hometowns in a fit of tears. He had broken their family and Noodle was dead.

Murdoc shivered again and looked over to her, her eyes wide in silent wonder with the cigarette resting between her lips, examining every star carefully. Her shoulders rose and fell with even breaths. Her cheeks were rosy with the blood that ran through her veins. She was alive. She was here, she was breathing, and she was alive.

Noodle shook as a chill ran down her spine and the man took note of the goosebumps raised on her skin. With a tsk, he shrugged his leather jacket off and wrapped it around her shoulders, fussing with it as he grumbled under his breath at her negligence.

“Why’d you come out here without a jacket, love? You’ll catch a cold that way.”

“Dunno. You seemed lonely and I wanted to hurry and get out here before you came in.”

She wore nothing but an oversized tour shirt from the Demon Days era (Murdoc recognized it as Russel’s) and pajama pants, which meant she had definitely been sleeping. The heaviness under her eyes admitted the same thing.

“Why are you up, Noodle? Is something bothering you?”

“Huh? No,” Noodle replied, puffing on her cigarette and shifting her weight, “Just one of those times where you wake up in the middle of the night for no reason. You know? I had heard you come down the stairs so I figured I’d investigate as all.” The jacket slipped off her arm, and she grabbed it before it fell with an annoyed movement, deciding to slide her arms in to make it easier. She zipped it, and Murdoc felt some sort of silent pride that he had correctly guessed that she needed it more than he did. 

They stood quietly for a minute or two, watching the occasional car drive past. She almost nipped his height but wasn’t quite there yet; Murdoc assumed that without his heels on, they’d probably be the same. She was short for her age, which was why it was still entirely possible for 2D to give her piggyback rides like he had when she was ten. The three of them still found it painfully easy to see her as the little girl with the radio helmet, who would latch onto their arms and point at every little thing she saw, begging them to tell her what it was in English. Murdoc felt like it got on her nerves sometimes, but what could you do? That was their girl. He was glad that not even five years away from her could get between their relationship with her; nothing was awkward. If anything, it was awkward because of how embarrassingly close they kept an eye on her, making sure she never got hurt again.

Murdoc’s gaze shifted to Noodle’s left cheek. He could still make out the shape of a jagged scar just below her left eye, and the image of a sixteen-year-old girl weeping in terror and pain as she dug shrapnel from her flesh haunted his vision. Dizzy with guilt, he placed a palm on the side of the car for leverage. She was right there and she was breathing and she was alive. She wasn’t among the smoking wreckage of a windmill anymore. She was there. 

“Why are  _ you  _ awake, Murdoc?” Her question snapped him back to reality and he found it hard to look her in the eye, choosing to focus between her eyebrows instead. “Is something bothering  _ you? _ ”

Murdoc decided not to answer right away, laughing poorly and shaking his head, tossing his cigarette to the ground and grinding it into the tar with his boot. “Of course not, sweet. You know how weird I can be sometimes.”

Noodle didn’t buy it for a second, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms. “Promise?”

“...Promise.”

"Pinky swear?”

Murdoc watched her hold out her hand in wait, her tongue in her cheek and her cigarette in her other hand that was placed on her hip. He held out the pinky that was painted red, but then withdrew it when she reached for it, shoving it in the pocket of his jeans with a hum in the back of his throat.

Noodle squinted at him and made a face, trying to read him as he sucked his teeth and looked the other way, really making no effort to cover himself up.

“Knew that’d get you,” she commented as she dropped her cigarette to the blacktop and let it fizzle out in the dew. Adjusting the oversized jacket, she slid over, wiggling her back against the body of the car to lower herself a little bit, allowing her to rest her head on his shoulder. His body was warm even out in the cold, and he flinched at the contact, but didn’t make her move. 

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong or am I gonna have to kick it out of you?” She jokingly threatened, although the two of them knew that it wasn’t entirely out of her league. The old man laughed tiredly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and tugging her close.

“Just worried as all, my little Noodle.”

“Why? Worried about the album flopping?”

“...No,” Murdoc shook his head with hesitation; while that wasn’t what was eating at him, it would be a really shitty thing to happen. Would anybody even remember Gorillaz? They’d been gone for 7 years and their band had been in the asscrack of nowhere fighting off pirates and ghosts and pirate ghosts the last time anybody saw any of them. Would they be too far gone by the time Humanz would drop?

“Then what’s the matter?” The orange of a flickering streetlamp above their heads drew their attention for a second, the cold night air biting at their cheeks. Noodle shivered and Murdoc huffed disappointedly, rearranging the jacket again, nagging to himself about how she  _ really  _ should’ve brought a jacket out, the leather was lightweight, she was gonna be fuckin’ sick by the time their first performance came along--

“--Don’t change the subject, Murdoc,” Noodle interjected, leaning away to get him to stop fidgeting with the cold jacket, popping her hands inside the sleeves, “Come on. Tell me what’s wrong. You gotta stop bottling this stuff up, you know.” There was a harsh silence after that, the words hanging over their heads like that annoying-ass streetlight that wouldn’t stop blinking and buzzing. 

He had stopped bottling his emotions on Plastic Beach by doing just that--he’d write letters to Noodle and send them off in rum bottles and beer bottles and whiskey bottles in the hopes that she’d get them. But more than anything, they were just a good way of allowing himself to vent without anybody really having to be there to listen; to just let his feelings be swallowed up by the sea and invalidated just as fast as they would be by everyone else he ever tried to open up to.

But Noodle was different; he was a father figure to her, just like Russel was. 2D was more of a brother, and the two were closer as a result, but he was just as important nonetheless. Those two were always able to open up to Noodle, venting to her just as she did to them, and they probably felt like real family to her. Murdoc just shut himself away, holing himself in his Winnebago and drowning his problems in alcohol, and typically veiled himself with an unemotional screen, refusing to let anybody see him show weakness. Some of that broke away on Plastic Beach because he had been hysterical over losing her-- _ especially  _ because he had regretted not being a better father to her--but even after reuniting with everyone and getting the band back on track, he still found it hard to express any sort of inward emotion. His dad had made him too afraid of doing that.

_ Everything’s a performance. Smile and fake it, kid, or nobody’s gonna be interested in you anymore. Nobody likes a downer. _

But that shit really  _ hurt  _ sometimes.

“I know,” Murdoc breathed after what seemed like ages, crossing his arms and frowning at the tar of the street. He saw Noodle grin empathetically out of the corner of his eye and she rested her head on his shoulder again.

“So spill,” she said, her voice carrying the vague British accent she’d picked up from him and Stu while retaining the Japanese one they’d all known to love. It was interesting to hear someone speak with more than one accent; before Noodle, Murdoc had never heard it, but it was most definitely there if you listened hard enough. The English sound only popped in every once and awhile, but when it did, it made Murdoc smile to think that she’d picked at least one thing up from the British half of her crooked little family. “What’s bothering you, Dad?”

Murdoc let his head hang to the side for a second, tongue in his cheek. He really wanted another cigarette. He scuffed the tip of his shoe against the street, watching pebbles kick up and skip across the black. 

“I’m scared I’m going to put you lot in danger again.”

Noodle didn’t seem to know what to say just then, shoving her hands into the pockets of the jacket, cheek smushed against his bony shoulder.

“The first mistake I made was even  _ thinking _ it was smart to go to Mexico in the first place.” He admitted, not wanting to acknowledge she was there, glancing up at the stars again like he had been doing before she came outside. They seemed so much further away now. “I should’ve never sold the weapons. I should’ve known that would’ve came back to bite me in the ass.”

He put his arm around her shoulder again, tightening his grip on her arm as he pulled her in tightly, afraid to let her go as if the night would steal her away. “I put you in danger. I made you have to fight for your life for how many years because I didn’t fucking think.” His heart clenched as he struggled to prevent reliving those memories, and succumbing to the urge, fished the carton of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one (purposely not looking over to the girl by his side in the event she would ask for one. She didn’t need it).

“I mean... it was both of our faults if you think about it,” Noodle tried, smiling halfheartedly at the lack of what to say, “We both agreed on it. You said, ‘hey little chicken, just do this one little music video for us and you’ll get your break’, and we talked about why I was in that windmill and how I couldn’t check in the storage space under the stairs under  _ any _ circumstances, and to jump off once I was about 200 feet above the canyon.” She swallowed hard, wrapping her arms tightly around Murdoc, reminding herself that she was fine and the rest of the band was fine and that they all were unscathed in the end. “I agreed. I knew about the man trying to kill me; you told me, you just sugarcoated it a little.”

“Should I have not sugarcoated it at all?” Murdoc questioned, taking a drag and focusing his eyes on one of their neighbors down the street, who was pulling out of his driveway to go lord-knows-where this late at night.

“No! No, no, I’m glad you did; just straight up telling a fifteen-year-old girl that there would be a man that would press a gun to her back if she opened the latch to the storage or lingered in one spot for too long would be... kinda fucked up.” She nudged him in the ribs. “You told me he didn’t have a gun.” Noodle paused then, relaying over that like receipt tape in her head. Quickly, she let go of him and added, “He... he  _ didn’t  _ have a gun, right...?”

Murdoc shook his head, figuring eye contact was probably really important for this particular topic. “No gun, princess, don’t worry your little head.” He ruffled her hair, smiling around his cigarette when she playfully groaned and rolled her eyes at the cheesy affection. “I didn’t lie to you there. Sod  _ thought  _ he’d have a gun; I told ‘im he would. Your old man woke up that morning and just couldn’t be arsed to put the gun under the stairs. That really saved your hide.”

He waited only for a split second to watch betrayal and hurt flash across her face before lightly punching her shoulder, forcing a chuckle. “Joshing, joshing, dear, no sort of gun ever passed the threshold of that windmill. Mudsy would never put you in any sort of danger. If things had actually gone to  _ plan,  _ the only danger you would’ve been in was if you didn’t jump off the island once it was going down.”

His eyes scanned over her face again while she was watching the ground, catching on the scar under her eye. He didn’t want to imagine what it had looked like in the initial injury, or what it looked like when she was trying desperately to stop the bleeding and dig out the infection. His throat closed and he choked for a second, pulling the cigarette between his fingers as he began coughing into his fist; luckily, his lungs were so unhealthy anymore you could no longer distinguish what was smoker’s cough or what was illness or what was something else. Only he knew and he liked it that way. Nobody needed to worry about him.

During his fit, Noodle mindlessly put her hand to the top of his back in comfort, but paid him no mind other than that. She was too focused on what her life had been like in the years she had lived without them, fending for herself. Way too scary for a young girl. Thankfully, she was more than equipped to take care of it with all of her military skills, but the thought always haunted her--

What if she hadn’t decided to go to Japan that year to reunite with Mr. Kyuzo and learn about her past, or if somebody hadn’t thought to mutter the words ‘ocean bacon’...? What would have happened to her then?

Murdoc finally recovered, deciding that the coughing spell was worth it and continued to smoke his cigarette, palm against the side of the car. “Never did ask, love,” he turned his head, “ _ did  _ you jump off that island?”

Noodle felt herself becoming overwhelmed but tried to swallow it anyway, gripping onto the seams of Murdoc’s jacket that she had on to remind herself that one of them was there with her and that she wasn’t alone. His cologne was thick enough for her to smell it every once and awhile when the wind blew in the right direction, and that was more helpful bringing her back than anything else.

“...Yes,” she finally answered, beginning to tremble again not from the cold but from trauma, her knees beginning to turn to jello. “But I couldn’t find the parachute at first. It wasn’t where I thought it was; I think that man may have moved it so I couldn’t escape. When I did find it the island was already in the canyon...” She paused to swallow and fight against the tears welling in her eyes, a lump catching in her throat. Murdoc held onto her shoulder tight again, squeezing it in support, silently letting her know to take her time.

“I was probably 1000 feet lower than I needed to be when I jumped off. I would’ve been fine if I wasn’t being shot at and there wasn’t a bomb dropped right after. The pilots blew a hole into my parachute and I probably freefell a good 300 feet to the ground.” Murdoc noticed how the feeling in her knees was beginning to go out judging by how badly they were wobbling, and he pulled her off of the car, tossing his cigarette to the ground. Helping her stand, he gripped ahold of her hand for her balance, other hand on her back to steady her. 

“Can we walk...?” Noodle breathed, leaning against him for support. Her chest was tight, but he needed to know. Maybe once they’d talked about this the thought of El Mañana wouldn’t sting the two of them as much.

“Of course, love,” Murdoc replied quietly, feeling himself begin to go upon hearing what had truly happened. The Black Cloud had done that to her. If he hadn’t gone to Mexico, then they would’ve never been after her and his little girl would’ve been able to parachute off without a scratch. Guiding her, they began to walk down the street, their way only dimly lit by dying streetlights and lightning bugs.

“You don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to, Noodle, it’s quite alright,” he reassured, but the woman shook her head roughly, her arm around his shoulder as if he were helping a drunk friend home. (She couldn’t recall how many times the situation had been  _ backwards. _ )

“I think I’ll feel better if I tell you.” Noodle’s lip began to quiver, and Oh Satan, Murdoc thought, if she cries I’ll be done for. “Nothing’s really secret, anyway... it’s just really hurt--the thought of bringing up what happened again.”

“I know, Noodle, it hurts real bad, doesn’t it?” He laughed, resting his head on top of hers in relation for a moment, kicking a rock out of their path. “And so many interviewers always wanna ask about it. Makes me wanna punch their lights out every time they try.”

“It’s so inconsiderate.” She sniffled, rubbing at her eye with the leather jacket and Murdoc’s heart ached in his chest in heartbreak. Out of all the people in the world, Noodle was one of the ones that deserved sadness and pain the least, and anytime a tear left her eye the three of them would shatter on the inside. 

“B-But.” She recollected herself, pulling her bangs out of her face. “I fell kind of far away from the island... I was banged up and bruised and bloody and broke an arm and a leg, but I would’ve been okay--just really injured--if that bomb hadn’t fell.” Her breath hitched in hysteria and she sniffed again, her vision blurring by the tears that were now beginning to roll down her face. Murdoc frowned, clicking his tongue and shaking his head and wiping under her eyes with his thumb.

“Now, now, chick, that just won’t do,” he cooed, the girl suddenly looking almost two decades younger, tears streaming and her lip quivering and staring up at him like she did when she’d get calluses from her guitar years ago. Back when she was unable to communicate with them and could only hold out her hands for him to see the injuries upon her fingertips to get him to understand. It was all too familiar. 

Then she let out the first sob, and it was all over. Like a child she clung to the man she had called her father, burying her face into his chest and squeezing him so tightly that it actually hurt. Murdoc rested his cheek on the crown of her head, rubbing her back, feeling his chest spasm every once and awhile with one of the sobs he tried to suppress. Tears dripped onto her back, rolling down his jacket, staining the leather with salt. The girl muffled apologies into his shirt, beginning to hiccup. Murdoc consoled her with a quiet voice in fear that if he spoke any louder she would shatter. He remembered when she would wake him in the middle of the night with a nightmare, reliving it as she explained what had happened in Japanese he couldn’t understand, and he would lull her back to sleep this way. 

“No tears,” his voice cracked, clearing his throat to try and shake off the warm stinging in his eyes, sharing the pain with her. “Everything’s alright. It hurts, dove, I know, but please don’t cry.” In an attempt to joke with her and make her laugh like he did when she was little, he added, “You won’t look ready to kick some fascist ass if your eyes are all puffy and swollen.”

Noodle laughed, wiping her cheek. Murdoc grabbed the bottom of his shirt and used it to dry her face, the girl occasionally hiccuping under the cotton. “You’re right,” Noodle smiled, sunshine bright behind the salt glazed over her eyes, blinking them away, chest spasming as she sought for even breath again. “And you won’t look fit to run from pirates with yours the same way.” They reached the end of the street and Murdoc decided that they should probably get inside soon or they’d really guarantee getting sick.

“You don’t have to say any more. Promise. You can just tell me another time,” he insisted, cracking an understanding smile at the wounded girl next to him. She looked tired. Her head hung low and her black hair hung in her face. It was messy from sleeping, and when it paired with the angle she had her head tilted at, she looked just like she had when she had asked him for the vacation in the first place. Eager smile when he said of course, just record this last video and you’ll have some time all to yourself. She had wrapped her arms around him with a shriek of excitement upon receiving that permission, grateful someone understood.

There they were then, studying their shoes with wells in their eyes, having been through so much emotional turmoil that it was a wonder they could feel emotions in the first place.

“...You sure?” Her voice cracked through the darkness. She rubbed her eye quietly. Murdoc nudged her in the arm, dropping his cigarette to the tar. 

“Of course, Noodle. It’s not that important. You’ve got your whole life to tell me; what matters is that you’re here with us now and you’re safe. We’ve got you, chick, so no sweat, alright?”

Noodle nodded quietly, swallowing hard.

They didn’t talk the rest of the way back to the Spirit House, Murdoc getting into his car to toss the cigarette carton on the seat and lock the doors. Walking back up the driveway, Noodle unzipped his jacket to hand it back to him. Glancing over and seeing her taking it off, he tutted at her and ripped at it to pull it back over her shoulders.

“You’re still outside! Leave it on.” 

Noodle laughed at him but complied anyway, waiting as he opened the side door for her. “We’re two seconds away from being inside!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Murdoc closed his eyes, ushering her in and out of the cold, taking one last look at the stars outside. He bet Stu probably would like them, since he always liked to be on the observation deck of Plastic Beach at night to glance at the Milky Way; he made a mental note to bring him out one night. “As long as you’re out in that cold ass air, you need it on. We can’t have you sick. You broke Cyborg, so if you’re down for the count, we’re screwed.”

Rolling her sore eyes at him, she shrugged the jacket off and handed it over. Shoving it in a closet, he kicked at one of the scrawny hands that reached out at him from the shoe bin until it retracted back inside. Damn house. It was a good thing it was cheap and one of its residents was already used to ghostly occurrences.

Noodle’s voice was small, whispering as to not wake anyone up.

“So was it like... a hushed thing...?”

Murdoc turned around, clicking the closet door shut, raising an eyebrow at her through the dark that lit them both in a dim blue; the curtains only allowed a bit of moonlight to creep in. 

“You mean the accident?”

“Yes. Did you guys keep it secret or was it a publicized thing?”

Murdoc sighed, running a hand through his grimy black hair. “Well, love, we tried to keep it quiet at first. We didn’t want to say anything in case you really did parachute off; that would’ve been kind of awkward if we’d sent out search parties to look for you and you just tapped us on the shoulder and gave us a thumbs up. But we couldn’t find you and people had investigated the source of the explosion, so we had a crowd we didn’t want watching the three of us break down and cry your name.” He laughed awkwardly. “I was kind of aloof because I really did think you jumped off into safety, I really did. So I wasn’t as bad as Russel or Dents-- _ that  _ was what really hurt, was watching them bawl onto each other and mourn you when you weren’t even gone.” He swallowed hard, a forced smile on his face. “That was what I thought at the time.

“It was a nightmare, little Noodle,” he rubbed his nose, “Both to deal with on its own and what ensued in the tabloids and magazines. I was accused of murdering my own daughter for the insurance money.” Murdoc’s voice caught in his throat and his eyes got hot, blinking away tears again. He was far from emotional, but the one thing that could always get him to fight back waterworks was El Mañana. He was an emotionless bastard and had been tough as nails since he clawed his way out of the cradle, but his one soft spot was his little girl, and maybe a  _ little  _ bit for the other two. But only if they were hurt or sad. He would only feel bad a little. A _ little.  _

Noodle seemed horrified, sitting on the arm of the couch, hand to her mouth. “Were you tried?”

“No, no, never got that far,” Murdoc shook his head, leaning against the closet door. “A switch would flip if I was ever asked about it.  _ ‘Mr. Niccals, this is X from The Sun, I was wondering if I could get your opinion on the allegations that you had your guitarist Noodle Guitarist from Gorillaz purposely offed?’  _ I’d scream at them until my throat was raw and I could taste blood. I would never lay a finger on you, and they knew that; everybody knew that. But not even Russ or 2D really believed me--they all just wanted somebody to blame, and I was the perfect target because of how  _ strange  _ I had been acting since I returned from Mexico. Like, it was considered odd that I went at all. Which it was, but...” He cut himself off and rubbed his temple, a migraine coming on at the thought. God, what a chaotic two years that was.

Noodle nodded, her brain so overloaded at this point that she really hadn’t listened entirely; just enough to catch all the important bits. “I’m sorry, Dad,” she apologized, frowning at the man who was easily visible in the dark because of his green complexion.

“It ain’t your fault, princess, don’t worry about it,” he waved her off, beginning to make his way towards the staircase. “The past is in the past. They’ve all mostly forgotten about it. I’m not worried.”

He shrugged, clearing his throat. “Well, it’s probably 2 or 3 in the morning, yes?”

Noodle shook her head, making a face. “I have no clue; I just woke up and came right down, I don’t have my phone on me.”

“Woah,  _ whaaaat? _ ” Murdoc laughed from the very bottom of his stomach, flashing the teeth that would make most people nervous but to Noodle was just another token that she associated with the word ‘home’. She groaned, cracking a grin and crossed her arms at him.

“Oh shut up! Like you didn’t live on yours on Plastic Beach! I read all of your tweets. You were  _ dependent  _ on that damn phone for a long time, don’t lie!”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head at her as outstretched his arms and began to bend down to give her a kiss on the forehead goodnight. “Yeah, yeah, say what you want, but it’s not true.”

“Yes it is!”

“Nuh-uh.”

“You lie!”

“I’m not a liar, you hush.”

Murdoc wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her as tight as he could, the girl hugging back but sputtering and laughing as he hurt her ribs. Pulling her bangs to the side, he placed a small goodnight kiss to her forehead, letting her go and allowing her space.

“We both should probably clock out for the night; we’ve got interviews tomorrow and it won’t do us any good if we’re zombies the whole time.” He waved her off, starting to go up the stairs. “I’m tired, anyway; thanks for joining me outside, Noodle. It was nice getting to talk to you.”

“Thanks, Murdoc,” Noodle smiled, standing up and stretching her arms with a yawn, “Thank you for letting me vent. It... it’s nice to have gotten some of that off my chest.”

She couldn’t see him anymore, but she heard him make one of the weird squawking noises he tended to make. “A good cry is nice every once and awhile, ain’t it, sweetheart? Really filters all that negative shit out.”

His head popped into her view again, the green-skinned man smiling through the dark, his voice quiet.

“Night, love. Wake me if you need me, alright?”

Noodle nodded, waving at him. “Night, Dad.”

He always used to react strangely to that word. When she was younger, she’d call him Papa and he would tense up, shaking his head slightly with a nervous chuckle, not wanting to outright tell her not to call him that. When she was a teenager, she didn’t do it as often, but when she did, he reacted a bit better but it still put a bad taste in his mouth. It was when she was shot down and she had to fight her way back home when he finally realized that the word was correct the entire time. Whether or not it still made him nervous she had no idea; he hid it well enough if it did.

This time, he smiled slightly more and waved back, finally disappearing out of view. She could hear the steps and floor creaking under his weight, and eventually the sound of his door clicking shut signaled her that she was alone again. The Spirit House settled and she could hear the ghosts begin to emerge from their hiding spots; once she was asleep, they’d come out and make a mess for them all to clean up in the morning.

Sighing and rubbing her forehead tiredly, Noodle began to descend the basement stairs to her bedroom.

Ghosts were better to clean up after than zombies, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> it wouldn't be one of my fanfictions without tears at some point right lol?


End file.
